


Learning Side by Side

by sasstasticmad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Falling In Love, Fraternities & Sororities, Friendship/Love, Love, Multi, Oral Sex, Professor Tyrion, Romance, Sexual Content, Student Sansa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3000080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasstasticmad/pseuds/sasstasticmad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's college experience was fairly typical. She made some friends, ate terrible food in the dining hall, and met the boy she's sure she'll marry one day.</p><p>Then why does this man, with curly hair and a warm smile, make her feel like her heart will beat out of her chest? </p><p>(A modern college/university AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It is her last year at school, and despite a fairly successful run complete with fairly decent grade point average and handsome boyfriend, Sansa allows herself a few minutes of crying as her parents bid her farewell and begin the long drive back home.

Sansa knows she’ll see them soon. Thanksgiving is less than three months away and her father relishes the school-appointed “Parent’s Weekend,” eager to wear her school colors even if the vibrant yellow doesn’t suit him and to buy her roommates too much food in exchange for tales about his “little princess,” but despite this promise of pending familial companionship, she’ll miss home and the people in it.

Bran will continue to talk anyone and everyone’s ears off about mythology, Rickon will attempt (albeit unsuccessfully) to ride on the poorly named Shaggy Dog, the elder canine statesman of the Stark home. Arya will continue to do whatever the hell it is Arya does, but now she was at a point where she actually talks to Sansa, gives her older sister glimpses into the mysterious and never ending possibilities of her future.

But school has once again started and the crisp summers up North have been replaced with the muggy heat of Old Town; a place where she is not Sansa Stark, daughter of Ned and younger brother to Robb,but just Sansa, a little fish in a big pond, not connected to much at all except a few friendly classmates and a boy who doesn’t seem to appreciate any effort to branch out from their routine.

 _This year will be different_ , she thinks as she gives her newly furnished room the once-over, a little swell of pride rising in her chest as she takes in the elegant color palette, the blues and purples that signify her foray into sophisticated adulthood. _I’ll be different_.

But just as Sansa is set to head out into town, reuniting with Joffrey and whomever he’s deemed will be their friend for the evening, she decides that it is probably a good idea to meet her apartment-mate. Margaery is a fellow fourth year whom she’s never met except through the occasional session of Facebook stalking but had come highly recommended by one of Sansa's graduating classmates. She seemed very nice if a tad formal and with any luck, they’ll coexist peacefully for the next year without incident. At least Sansa hopes.

She leaves the muted calm of her room and moves past the shared bathroom to the other bedroom, knocking timidly to no response. Hesitantly, unsure if her new roommate will even be there despite the slightly open door, she enters the room only to find it decorated like some grown-up version of Eloise’s Plaza, the decorations reminiscent of a spinster debutante. The room is covered in impractical things, a silk comforter in a shade of petal pink that reminds her almost of strawberry ice cream, a lamp that wouldn’t seem out of place in a Victorian romance with its delicate glass in shades of green and yellow, and a ornate iron mirror that transforms the desk into a vanity accompanied with a velvet cushion the same shade as the duvet.

 The only indication of her roommate’s ( _Margaery’s_ , she thinks, _her name is Margaery_ ) youth comes from the photos tacked on the wall. Upon closer inspection (which is probably a bad idea given the lack of permission, but Sansa was never one to do anything by halves), there’s a picture of Margaery, smiling and winking at the camera, as a broad-shouldered boy wraps his arms around her shoulder, a large grin on his handsome stubble-covered face. She sees a picture of Margaery with a boy that could be her twin, their heads full of chestnut waves and matching wayfarers rimmed in sea green perched upon aristocratic noses.

Upon first glance, they seem like candids, but to Sansa, they are previews of a J.Crew catalogue never to come out, a glimpse into the lives of the very preppy at their happiest, complete with a shot of an older woman wearing a jade sunhat and grasping a martini glass, a knowing smirk on her pale, wrinkled face.

It is in the midst of this browsing that Sansa feels a tap on her shoulder, a sudden touch that causes her to turn around and behold, for the first time, the glory of Margaery Tyrell, a vision beaming in a white sundress with a Kate Spade bag on her arm.

“You must be Sansa,” she says, a rosebud smile unfurling on her face. There is no hint of annoyance upon the intrusion, but what seems to be amusement as if plebeians had frequently gazed upon her treasures before.

“I am, “ Sansa replies, crossing her arms in front of her lest Margaery find her own outfit, a pale blue skater dress with ballet flats, not up to snuff. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly. We had to meet at some point. As long as you didn’t steal any of the vodka, we’ll be the best of pals.” Margaery tilts her head toward the pink glass decanter and glasses perched atop her dresser, the storage site of this apparent forbidden fruit.

“I wouldn’t steal anything,” Sansa assures her, taking all of Margaery in from her kitten heels to the Tiffany necklace she had pinned numerous times to her Pinterest board titled ‘If Only.’ “I don’t even drink much anyway.”

“Neither do I, sweetie,” Margaery replies, winking at her like they’ve shared this big secret. “Renly doesn’t like it when I’m fall-down drunk when we go out, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Renly?” Sansa asks, imagining which of Margaery’s polaroid pin-ups, all handsome and muscled, is allowed to have an opinion.

“My ‘gentleman caller,” Margaery adds, the smallest hint of a laugh escaping her. “He’s all mountain man but god forbid, I try and outdrink him in front of his football buddies. But he’s the sweetest thing, my family just loves him.” She stretches this last part out, as if Margaery’s boyfriend and his bond with Margaery’s perfect family is something Sansa should already know. “You have a boyfriend, Sansa?”

 “Yeah,” she replies, wondering if she sounds too casual or flippant about Joffrey when she can feel the nervous churn of her stomach, the anticipation of things to come in the next few hours. “But I haven’t seen him all summer, I finally get to see him today.”

 “Well then, I won’t keep you,” Margaery says, giving Sansa a quick shoulder squeeze before gently guiding her to the door. “ Have fun with your boy. Use protection.”

“I will,” Sansa answers a bit too loudly, heading toward her room to grab her purse. It might not be the same caliber bag as any of Margaery’s, but for now, it’ll get the job done.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's reunion with Joffrey takes an unexpected turn.

Joffrey usually insists on the same rowdy sports bar that his ‘brothers’ had frequented for generations, so it is no small achievement for their reunion to take place at the bar she picked out a few blocks from campus. She assumes the lure of reunion sex is strong enough to allow her this bit of control and she relishes it, already envisioning a wittily named cocktail in her hand with her man at her side, his eyes only for her as they get (tastefully) drunk on gin and each other.

The “Water Gardens” is exactly the type of bar she had envisioned when daydreaming about her adulthood. It is effortlessly cool, with blood red couches and dark wooden tables filled with people that are a little bit older but infinitely more classy. She feels a tad under-dressed but exhilarated as she waits at the end of the bar, her gaze darting to the entryway every time she hears movement, disappointed not to see the familiar towheaded boy she’s loved for three years. 

To check her phone implies a failure on her part, like by finally reading the inevitable ‘not feeling it tonight. we’ll hang out later “ text message, she’s accepted that he’s not coming tonight and that she has failed as a girlfriend.

It isn’t surprising. It should be, but it isn’t. He has no problem flaking on plans if they aren’t up to his standards. He probably decided to drink with his friends, a band of cronies that mindlessly laugh at his jokes and ham-fistedly hit on her friends when his fraternity has invites. God forbid, she actually gets to decide what they do for once.

 In the midst of this self-pity, accompanied by the two lemon drops she has drunk in the past twenty minutes, she is interrupted by a man leaning up against the bar next to her, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up against his tanned skin.

“You seem too young to be in a place like this,” the man says, an amused lilt in his slightly accented speech.

He’s not wrong, she’s barely old enough to drink and sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd of young professionals clad in pencil skirts and suits; but despite his correct assumption, she’s already annoyed. There’s a knowing smirk on matinee-idol face as he waits for her response, his thumb running over the large golden ring on his left hand.

Margaery would have had a charming response, even Arya could have come up with something both menacing and alluring, but Sansa had never fooled herself into thinking she was witty. She was never the funny one, only the ‘good’ one, the one praised for her beauty and not any burgeoning sense of humor. 

Luckily for her, the man seems to sense that, the smirk on his face fading into an easy smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assures her. “I was young once. I was doing much worse than drinking alone on a Thursday.”

“You’re not that old,” Sansa says almost without thinking, mainly because it is true. He’s definitely older than her, early 30’s at the absolute youngest, but he has an air that reminds her of Joffrey’s uncle, Jaime. The air of someone who still runs 5 miles a day without catching his breath, does all he can to stay young lest the sands of time wither what is pretty close to aesthetic perfection.

A grin breaks out over his face and he lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re sweet.” He reaches out and boops her on the nose, a gesture that would be insulting if she weren’t flattered by the attention. “Sweet girl, drinking alone. I bet you have the boys lining up.”

For a second, she thinks to mention Joffrey, the way he would have fumed had any man, especially a swarthy older one would be flirting with her, but decides against it. If he wanted to be there, he would have showed up. He’s made his lack of interest in her ideas very clear.

“Nope,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and smiling in what she hopes is a winsome manner. “ Apparently all boys still think gingers don’t have souls.”

Another laugh fills the air before the man glances toward the door, raising a tanned hand over his head. “I like you, “ he says, the same complacent grin still on his face. “ Whoever you are.”

“Sansa,” she says quickly, glancing to the door and only getting a brief glimpse of an olive-skinned woman wearing a blood red dress and truly killer heels.

“Sansa,” he repeats, holding out his hand. “I’m Oberyn.”

She shakes it, hoping her palm isn’t as clammy as she thinks it is, before catching another look at the same woman in the red dress, the same woman that seems to be striding meaningfully towards the both of them.

“And this,” Oberyn adds, tilting his head to the woman who lightly slaps him lightly on the ass before resting by his side, her head on his shoulder, “is Ellaria.”

Instead of the jealousy that Sansa would have expected from a woman so obviously part of “a couple,” Ellaria merely smiles at her, her full lips curled up in not quite a grin.

“She’s darling,” Ellaria, croons, her dark eyes glancing up at Oberyn. “She’d be perfect for Willas.”

A brief pang of disappointment fills her stomach when she realizes that Oberyn probably doesn’t want to take her home (why would he, Ellaria’s body is something out of a Botticelli painting, lush and strong, curvy in the places where Sansa was almost woefully flat), but she ignores it. She has a boyfriend albeit one that is less than ideal, she shouldn’t want to sleep with strange tanned men. “Who’s Willas?”

“Willas is one our dearest friends,” Ellaria says. “And he’s just crazy about redheads.”

Sansa can feel herself blush and hopes for a brief instant that the hazy lighting of ‘Water Gardens’ hides her obvious blush, tangible proof of her embarrassment-laden curiosity.

“He’s supposed to meet us here tonight,” Oberyn adds, a winsome grin filling his handsome face. “You’ll like him.”

“How do you know that?” She asks, almost coyly. She’s known Oberyn and Ellaria for a grand total of about three minutes. They can’t know anything that she herself wouldn’t know about her tastes in men.

“Oberyn and I have an excellent eye,” Ellaria assures her, a well-manicured hand resting briefly against Sansa’s hip. “ And very discerning tastes. We wouldn’t make any promises that we couldn’t keep. Just stay to meet him. If you don’t like him, you can leave.”

“Alright then,” Sansa answers, glancing a little wearily back at the doorway to see this mysterious ‘Willas’ approach.

As soon as she gets a good look at him, any disappointment that might have arisen when Oberyn hadn’t extended an invitation to his bed instantly vanishes. It is replaced with what could only be described as the world’s largest ladyboner.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: our hero

What Sansa immediately notes is that Willas is incredibly attractive. Handsome isn’t the right word for how he looks. That’s the way she’d describe Oberyn with his rakish air or how she would have described Joffrey in the early days, back when rose colored glasses had made him seem like her preppy fantasies come to life.

Instead of being handsome or hot or any other word, Willas just seems aesthetically perfect, the same way a marble sculpture is, like he’s almost too flawless to be real. His hair is a tumble of brown curls that seem just a bit too long, but it only adds to his appeal as she stares at him on his way to where the three of them are gathered, the debonair Oberyn, gorgeous Ellaria, and her, the girl with cartoon hearts flying out of her head. Hearts that are ruining her attempt to seem as nonchalant as possible.

Oberyn is quick to grab Willas into a hug, clapping a hand against his back the same way Robb and Jon always did upon saying goodbye after Christmases at Winterfell. Once released, Ellaria is quick with her own embrace, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and letting out a quick laugh when she leaves an imprint of her burgundy stained lips on his cheek.

"Willas, darling," she croons, attempting to remove the smudge with her thumb. "We found someone for you. Her name is Sansa, she's very fetching"

"You guys really don't need to play matchmaker for me," he replies, his voice warm and rich to Sansa's ear as she takes note of the way his jeans fit perfectly on his ass, ogling him almost reverently. "I like to think I'm an adult. I'm more than capable of being awkward with women without your false advertising." "

"Nonsense," Oberyn says, putting an arm around Sansa's shoulder and gently shifting her closer to Willas so that she is standing directly across from him. "Everything we told Sansa was absolutely true." He turns his head toward her, raising his eyebrows like he's a cartoon villain, in danger of corrupting young maiden fair. "Isn't it, Sansa?"

But before she gets a chance to answer, Ellaria nudges Willas closer toward them before making a big deal of needing something out of the car and "wouldn't Oberyn be so kind as to accompany her for the errand." They vanish almost as quickly as they appeared, leaving Sansa and Willas together at the edge of the bar.

Alone.

There's a second's pause where they both stare at each other, Sansa already taking note of the kindness of his eyes as he sheepishly smiles at her. "I'm sorry about that, by the way," Willas says, running a hand through his mop of curls. "They really want me to find a girlfriend so they don't have to have me as their pity third wheel."

"Don't worry about it," she says, giving him a small smile back. "They only said good things. I can only assume you aren't here to kidnap me or anything."

"That's usually how this goes," he says like he's letting her in on a secret, his voice an exaggerated whisper. "Oberyn didn't mention anything about a hostage situation? He's supposed to do that for me so this all goes smoothly."

"He did," Sansa replies matter-of-factly, crossing her arms underneath her chest in the hopes that will little cleavage she has will be amplified. " But being kidnapped the first time we meet seems a little too casual. That's usually a pretty big step for me."

He laughs and it is quite possibly the greatest sound Sansa has ever heard. "I wouldn't want to rush you then," Willas says, still smiling down at her. " I haven't even asked you on a real date yet."

"Why would you ask me on a date? You don't know anything about me," she says in a feeble attempt to be coy. Her heart is fluttering in her chest and without even meaning to, she blushes, the familiar heat rushing to her cheeks. If there were ever a time to be grateful for the selective lighting of the bar, she thinks, it would definitely be now.

  "I know you're funny. I know that if Ellaria and Oberyn like you, you aren't boring and incredibly brave since they can be slightly terrifying" he says, placing his calloused hand against her upper arm, the heat of it soothing against the cotton of her dress. "And," he adds, the slight embarrassment of before returning to his voice, "I know you're really hot and I don't like that I seem super shallow for admitting it, but you are stunning and I'd be really stupid not to at least try."

"You think I'm funny?" Sansa asks, loving everything that he's said to her but that most especially. She's not the funny one. She's the butt of the joke, frequently reminded that 'it's a good thing she's pretty' (at least that's what Joffrey is quick to tell her anytime she feels like making a joke at anyone's expense other than her own).

"Either that or we both have really shitty senses of humor," he says, giving her arm a gentle squeeze before removing it, moving closer to the bar and raising a hand toward the bartender. "But even if I don't know a lot about you, isn't that the whole point of dating? You learn about someone until you either get sick of them or make them stay with you forever."

The bartender, an almost ethereal woman with white-blonde hair comes over, and Willas turns his head to her. "You want a drink?"

"Sure," Sansa replies, inwardly cursing herself for responding too fast, the cautionary warnings of her mother playing in her mind. She doesn't want to be the cow that gives her milk out for free, but Willas makes it seem incredibly appealing.

"Any particular one?"

"Surprise me," she replies, smiling in what she hopes is an enticing manner before catching sight of any empty booth in the corner of the bar. " I'll grab us some seats."

As she walks to the booth and sits down on the velvet upholstery, the nagging sensation she has recently begun associating with Joffrey appears in the back of her mind. Were she a good girlfriend, she would have politely declined the offer, she wouldn't have even stayed in the bar when Joffrey decided he wasn't coming. Sansa is apparently a terrible girlfriend because instead of pining for her beau, she staring at another man and wishing desperately that he might want her like she wants him, wanting to know the feel of his body against hers and wondering what he looks like when he comes.

The blush from earlier returns when Sansa catches Willas' eye once again. He's returned from the bar holding two cocktails, limes on the edge. If he hadn't already seemed great, the fact that she isn't being forced to drink another beer, the nectar of the fraternity gods, definitely solidifies his being delightful.

"The bartender recommended these," Willas says, sitting down across from her, his foot just barely skimming her shin. "I basically like anything that tastes like a Capri Sun so I hope you like sweet drinks."

She grabs the proffered drink from his hand and takes a long sip, relishing the tart sweetness of the cocktail. "I definitely do."

"Good to hear it. I'm the lightweight in the family," he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. " My sister will drink all night, no problem, and I'm the asshole that has three drinks and is useless for a week."

"I'm sure you're not useless," Sansa assures him, finishing her drink more quickly than she had intended, its effects combining with her previous cocktails and leaving her in a pleasant sort of haze. The temptation to lick Willas' face is growing by the second and she couldn't be happier. He doesn't say anything to that, just rewards her with another bright smile before tossing back his own drink, his lips puckering as he sets the glass down. They chatter for a little bit, discussing Sansa's upcoming thesis and his own work as a graduate student in toxicology, studying poisonous plants of the region. There's the vague description of their interests but after a while, they fall into an easy silence, smiling at each other over their now empty glasses.

She feels comfortable with him, glad that she's allowed the dignity of silence as opposed to the word vomit that is due to come out if she were speaking any more than she already has. To tell a man you just met that the forearms revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his pale blue button down remind her of a Disney prince seems a bit forward. That coupled with the information that Prince Eric was her first crush is almost painfully embarrassing, so instead they continue this little dance until Sansa starts laughing, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

"What's wrong?" Willas asks, raising an eyebrow. "You want another drink?"

"No," she says, moving her arm down from her face to rest in her lap. "I'm good."

"Then what do you want to do?" His tone is sincere, there's no hint of lechery or the sleaze that one would expect from a strange man who has slightly liquored you up. He's looking right at her eyes now, his brown eyes warm and inviting.

"I dunno," she admits, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know how to make the first move."

"So you were planning on making a move on me?" He seems amused by this, an incredulous smile on his face. "Because I've been wanting to do something for a while."

"And what's that?" Sansa asks, her voice surprisingly husky to her own ears. She already knows the answer, can tell by the way he's leaning into her, his face tilted and a hand gingerly moving to cup the back of her hair.

He says nothing to that, only presses his lips against hers like he wouldn't want to be doing anything else, his kiss better than anything she could have imagined.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *"Let's get physical" by Olivia Newton John blares softly in the background*

When they were growing up, Sansa and Arya would spend a week of their summers with their Aunt Lysa, seven precious days of their vacation holed up in the middle of nowhere, lest they ignore their familial obligations.

Arya hated the forced 'girl time', and would spend the whole week out of the house, only returning to change clothes and harass their cousin in his attempts to tag along on her adventures. Sansa, on the other hand, was not so bold.

It wasn't that Aunt Lysa was terrible; it's just that being with her for a long time made you sad, desperate for something you had never even had. Aunt Lysa would talk constantly about her former husband, reminiscing about 'how wonderful he was' and 'how she would never love again.' It was exhausting, to listen to these rants over and over while nodding in all of the right places, but Sansa did it because there was nothing else to do. And although these rants and the occasional crying jags consumed most of the visits, so did Sansa and Lysa's shared guilty pleasure- romantic comedies.

They would sit in silence on Lysa's plastic wrapped couch, sharing a box of Sour Patch Kids, and staring hungrily at the screen as the formulaic stories unfolded in front of them.

Girl met boy, boy and girl took part in some witty banter, boy and girl fought, but all ended well with a kiss and a heartfelt monologue.

And Sansa ate it up, dreamed of the day that someone would kiss her like Audrey Hepburn was kissed at the end of "Breakfast at Tiffany's", dreamed of meeting the man of her dreams at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.

These romantic daydreams had fallen by the wayside as she had grown older and faced the realities of the world. It became apparent that no relationship was picture-perfect, least of all any of hers, but hey, that was part of growing up. You faced reality and ignored the fantasy version of the life you had planned as a child, forgetting the lure of a perfect kiss and being complacent with 'just ok'.

Sansa had been okay with 'just ok' for a long time. It's only when she feels Willas' tongue in her mouth and his hand knotted even tighter in her hair, her heart racing in her chest, that she realizes she will never be fine with 'just ok' ever again. After a minute, she pulls back from his kiss to press a small peck on his lips, resting her forehead against his as her breath comes out raggedly. She doesn't say anything in the aftermath, only delights in having been thoroughly made out with, smiling without even meaning to do so.

"Fuck," Willas whispers under his breath, moving his hand from the back of her head to run gently over her arm as he draws back just far enough to look at her. They simply stare at each other for a moment, Sansa feeling incredibly smug as she notes how debauched Willas looks with his lips all kiss-swollen, before they both start laughing, their voices probably too loud for the cool elegance of the bar crowd.

“You’re a good kisser," Willas finally says when they've both calmed down, their laughter easing slowly but surely into another easy lull.

“You think so?” Sansa asks, the teasing lilt in her voice masking the giddiness she is feeling.

“Definitely,” he says simply, leaning in to kiss her once again, quick and sweet, his lips smiling into it. “I really want to take you home,” Willas adds, his voice just barely above a whisper as he rests his head against hers. “Is that okay?”

“Okay,” she says without even thinking. She can feel longing pooling in her stomach, heat radiating throughout her entire body, and she knows for a fact that when he’ll eventually dart down to her underwear, the thin cotton will be soaked through. Sansa can’t remember the last time she’s felt like this or even if she has ever felt like this, blinded by lust and desperate to have someone.

Joffrey had made her feel a glimmer of this in the beginning, but that might have just been the excitement of having a ‘grown-up’ relationship, one where they spent the night at each other’s places without fear of parental interference. Of course, this romantic ideal hadn’t lasted for long. Sex had quickly become a routine she endured twice a week, a tribute to Joffrey’s penis as opposed to an expression of passion, one where she didn’t even bother faking it anymore lest Joffrey get the impression that his lack of reciprocation actually did anything for her. He’s only kissed her and Sansa already knows that Willas won’t be like that. It won’t just be sex. It’ll be something worthwhile.

\--

The fifteen minute walk to Willas' apartment seems like an eternity. His hand is in hers, warm and reassuring in the slight cool of the evening, but it isn't enough to sate the desire that is threatening to consume her if he doesn't touch her as soon as possible. When they finally reach the front of what seems to be his building, the relief she feels is palpable. Willas sheepishly lets go of her hand to fish for his keys and after a moment's fumbling, he opens the front door and grabs her hand once more, leading her up two flights of stairs and down the hallway to his apartment. The unlocking process is swifter this time and it's no time at all before they both cross the threshold and Willas flicks on the light.

Sansa is pleased to see none of the elements she has come to expect with any place inhabited by college-aged males. The tan carpet of Willas' apartment has recently seen a vacuum and on the wall he's hung up a few art prints ranging from Escher to Klimt, framed in rich chestnut brown over the sofa.

"You want anything to drink right now?" Willas asks, moving his hand from hers to rest low on her hip. "My grandmother would be terribly offended if I didn't try and be a good host."

"I'm fine," she replies, leaning into him and turning her head to gaze up at him. "I'd rather do this anyway." And with that, she seals his mouth over his, kissing him as best as she can, the lust that's been building inside of her all evening finally coming to a head. Willas lets out a sort of surprised noise into her mouth but his lips are just as insistent against hers, his hand moving even lower to run down her back and cup her ass as they kiss, another moan escaping as he presses her tighter. He pulls away from the heat of her mouth to kiss down the side of her neck, the pull of his lips causing her to gasp.

"Bed," he says as he kisses a trail back up her neck and she feels the gentle press of his teeth on her ear "I want to do this right."

"Yeah," Sansa nearly moans, even if she would be perfectly content to let him have his way with her right on the coffee table. "Beds are good things."

"It's at the end of the hall," he tells her, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips. "I'll be there in a second. I have to pee." There's a hint of embarrassment in his tone but she appreciates the candor, glad that he's not "smooth" enough to say what will only get her to bed (especially since she's a sure thing at this rate).

As she mentally thanks the gods of 'huge bladders' for blessing her with enormous one, heading down the hallway toward his bedroom. The warm greens and browns of the living room are found once again in the confines of his bedroom, but Sansa doesn't have time to notice decor. She flips on the light, sets her purse down against his nightstand and before any anxiety has the chance to set in, she kicks off her flats and pulls her dress over her head, grateful that she had taken the time to actually match her underwear, the pale pink of her bra making her skin seem creamy as opposed to ghostly pale.

For a second, she wonders if Willas might think this is too forward, but the look of awe on his face as he comes into the bedroom and sees her sitting against his pillows is worth it.

"Shit," he says, his voice almost reverential as he shuts the door behind him, moving toward her perch on his bed. "You're so fucking beautiful." He presses her back against the mattress, kissing her until her lips feel swollen, until she feels like she might die from wanting him as she grinds herself against the front of his jeans, her legs gripping him tight as she presses against the telltale bulge concealed by the fabric.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she says, her hands moving to run up under his shirt and over the warm plane of his back as he cups her breasts, pressing kisses to what little of the skin her bra exposes. "It doesn't seem fair that I'm pretty much naked and you're not."

"I got distracted," he says, halting their embrace to unbutton his shirt, his pupils wide as he looks back down at her. "Who could blame me?" He tosses the fabric to the floor before sitting at the edge of the bed and removing his shoes, the suede quickly coming off before being followed by his socks.

He doesn't have the same gym rat body that Joffrey does, but Sansa is awestruck by how attracted she is to him. His arms and back are defined but she is immediately drawn to his chest hair, eager to run her fingers through the smattering up top and to follow the happy trail on the soft flesh of his stomach all the way down to his cock.

"Stay back against the bed," he tells her, his voice rough and commanding as moves to cover her body with his own once more . Willas kisses her hungrily before moving his lips down her neck and onto her breasts, nipping gently throughout the journey down her body. Meanwhile, his fingers find their way to her underwear, where they rub against the drenched fabric just barely pressing against her clit.

"You're so wet," Willas murmurs approvingly as moves down her body to let his face join his hand, the other one running over the smooth skin of her thigh. If she weren't so desperate to feel more of him, Sansa is sure she'd be annoyed at his teasing but for now all she wants is more, more of his hands and mouth. What can only be described as a whine escapes from the back of her throat as she bucks her hips upward, eager for him to continue this exquisite torture.

As if he can read her mind, Willas complies. He slides the crotch of her panties to the side and begins to slowly rub circles on her clit, a smug look evident on his face as he gives her one last look before letting his tongue follow.

The first press of it is so good, Sansa can't help but let out a low moan, her hands gripping tightly onto his chestnut curls as he begins to devour her.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening of pleasure continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1) Sorry about the delay. I will try and be less of a flake in the future
> 
> 2) To anyone and everyone who has commented, left kudos, or even just read up until the sex scene(s)  
> Y'all are the best. Thank you for reading, thanks for the feedback, and thank you for being a part of the small but mighty Willas/Sansa club.

If the rational part of Sansa's brain were in charge, this never would have been happening. She would be at home, in bed watching the "Million Dollar American Princesses" special her mother had recommended in an email with the subject headline 'Princesses for my princess.' Maybe she would have replied when Joffrey sent the inevitable 'heyyy babe' text at around midnight, maybe she would have even allowed him some clemency and into her bed.

But as Willas shoves her panties down her thighs, his tongue flicking her clit just right, any semblance of rational thought has been abandoned. She doesn't care about any errant hairs that might have escaped the purge of her razor, doesn't care about anything other than getting more of his mouth, more of his fingers curled in her cunt in that spot that makes her head fall back in ecstasy and her grip on his hair tighten.

Sansa doesn't let her head rest against the pillows on his bed, the sight of Willas between her legs is too good to pass up. He is thorough in his ministrations, exploring all of her until he finds the spots that make her moan the loudest, the same ones that are sure to be the cause of a massive wet spot when all is said and done. But as he works, he glances up at her, his pupils dilated so that his eyes are no longer a warm amber but nearly black. He laps at her as if he's dying of thirst and if she wasn't so desperate to have him inside her,have his cock replace his fingers, she might just let him drink from her all night, using his mouth until she can't come even if she wanted to.

' _Another time_ ' she thinks with a blind optimism as she tugs his face up to hers, kissing him with an intensity she hadn't thought possible. She can taste herself on his lips, his chin dampened with her juices.

"I want you to fuck me," she very nearly commands, her mouth pressed against his ear as her hand darts to the fly of his jeans in her eagerness to see all of him.

"Yeah?" He replies, his voice nearly a growl as he helps in her efforts, his own practiced hands much better at shucking off his jeans and underwear off of himself and onto the floor as he continues to kiss her. Once stripped, she can feel the press of his cock, hot and heavy against her, leaving her with no other want in the world than to take him inside of her.

It is probably a good thing that Willas seems to have more control than she has since he is the one to pull away, the only rational adult in what is quickly becoming the most irresponsible night of Sansa's life. "Do I need to grab anything?" He asks, his voice still low and lust-filled as he gives a cursory nod to his bedside table.

"I'm on the pill," she breathes, never more grateful for that fact.

Her mother, even with subtle reminders about how she lost her virginity on her wedding night, had been absolutely adamant on getting her daughter on birth control once it became evident that she would be 'giving the milk for free.' Tullys and Starks were good girls and the prospect of becoming a grandmother to a bastard child was not one her mother relished.

Willas gives her a quick kiss at this, moving a hand to his cock to position himself at her entrance. He stares at her once more, his eyes both lust-filled and almost supplicating, like being inside her is the greatest honor he could have ever hoped to achieve. It's incredibly endearing, but Sansa doesn't have time for timid and gentle right now; not after the way he's touched her. She bares down onto his cock until he fills her entirely, her legs wrapped around him to draw him as close as possible.

It's not really a surprise, not after he's made her heart race and her cunt soaked beyond measure, but he fits inside of her perfectly.

"Shit," Willas says under his breath, a look of wonder on his face."You feel so fucking good." Before she has a chance to say anything, let him know that the feeling is more than mutual, he begins to move in and out of her. Slow, deep strokes that make her ache with want and moan as he brushes against a part of her that is sure to make her come. She's whimpering now, can recognize the need in her voice as he fucks her slowly, but he doesn't speed up his movements. There's a small smirk on his face as she holds onto him tighter, her nails digging into his back.

"You know, I'll fuck you however you want" he says, punctuating his words with a long stroke of his cock. "You just have to ask for it."

"Please," Sansa begs with no hesitation, her hips meeting his as she attempts to quicken the pace. "Harder."

Willas is nothing if not obedient. Instead of this leisurely, decadent fucking; he begins to go faster, a growl erupting from his throat as she meets this new rhythm, her hips eagerly moving in time with his. It feels so good, so right that it takes no time at all for her to body to tense up all around him, a loud moan filling the air as she feels her toes clench and her vision grow hazy. The only thing she is conscious of is the press of his body against hers, the electricity she feels each time he fills her up.

"Oh fuck," Willas groans as her cunt pulses all around him, the thrust of hips growing faster and more erratic. "You're gonna make me come."

The idea of Willas coming inside of her is almost enough of a turn-on to make her come again and as his growls become more primal, she clenches down as hard as she can onto him, spurring him on as he breathes harder and harder. She gets her wish a few moments later, a murmured stream of " _Oh fuck yes, please_ ," coming from his throat as he throbs inside of her, a rush of warmth flooding through her when his own climax comes.

They stay like that for a few moments, both of them catching their breath as he lies on top of her, a contented smile unfurling itself on her face as she runs a hand up and down the warm skin of his back. He smiles back at her, gently smoothing her hair from her face before pressing a delicate kiss to the tip of her nose, a final peck before he withdraws entirely. The absence that his cock leaves makes her feel empty even as she feels his come sticky against her thighs.

She doesn't have time to mourn the emptiness for long as he rolls to the side of her, pressing her back against his front and holding her close to him. No longer consumed by lust, she feels safe and comforted by his warmth around her, the gentle nuzzle of his cheek against hers giving her hope that maybe, just maybe, he'll still want her there in the morning when the alcohol and courage of the night has failed her.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after. *cue scary music*

There's a few moments right when she wakes up that Sansa forgets where she is, only notes the stickiness between her thighs and the pleasant soreness she's feeling. This blissful ignorance only lasts for a short while because it is not everyday she wakes up with a man wrapped around her, his breath hot against her neck and his body pressed against hers like her own personal electric blanket.

" _Oh fuck_ ," Sansa thinks, but apparently she yells it too because she feels Willas stir against her, his movements no longer the lazy shuffle of the half-asleep but the startled ones of the truly concerned.

"What is it?" He asks, nuzzling against her before removing his arm from around her and sitting up, voice still drowsy.

"I fucked up," she says, putting her head in her palms. She can't even look at him, get the reassurance she so desperately wants. "I really fucked up."

"As long as you didn't shit my bed," Willas says, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down the plane of her back, "it'll be fine. There's a good chance that even if you did, I'm still going to want to hang out with you later."

"No, I didn't shit in your bed," Sansa replies a little exasperatedly, her face still firmly hidden by her hands. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable story as to why that is your first instinct. I just majorly fucked up and I slept with someone who was not my boyfriend. But you know," she adds, sitting up and resting her head against her knees,"at least I didn't shit myself. So I've got that going for me."

"Not pooping yourself is something we don't take enough pride in. But I mean that other part isn't as great."

“Oh you mean, the part where I have a boyfriend,” she blurts out, looking up expectantly at him, a little surprised to see the expression on Willas’ face, one not filled with anger or jealousy, but concern.

“I’m assuming it’s not that serious," he replies, his hand still gently running up and down the curve of her back.

“Because I slept with you after knowing you less than a day?”

“No,” he says, giving a quick kiss to her forehead. “I mean, that’s part of it and I thoroughly enjoyed that part of it. But you were alone in a bar. You don’t seem like an alcoholic and if my sister has taught me anything, it’s that girls can’t go anywhere alone. If it were serious, he would have been there making you happy instead of leaving you alone to find someone who would be willing to try."

"You're making him sound like this huge asshole."

"As far as I'm concerned, " Willas replies, "he must be. You don't seem like the type of person who likes to hurt people. You told me you cried when watching those commercials with the Sarah McLaughlin songs in the background while they show pictures of sad dogs. People like you don't do things like that, you try and work things out and see the good in things, you wouldn't have done it if he were worth it."

"This is pretty profound stuff coming from a guy who is clearly biased," Sansa says.

It's nice to hear that she's good and all, but now is not the time or place for such reassurances. Sansa is a good girl, that's what she has been told for and praised for all of her life. She is good, not funny, not smart, just good. She helps her mother with charity work, she babysits her little brothers, she fucks strange men who make her come harder than she ever has in her entire life. One of these things is not like the others, and it's the one she is dealing with right now with the strange man in question, his come dried and sticking to her thighs.

"Just because I'm biased doesn't mean I'm not right," Willas says, voice softer as he moves to look directly into Sansa's eyes. "I really like you," he tells her gently, a small smile on his face. "And from what I can tell, you like me too."

"I do like you," she admits sheepishly, the smile on his face growing.

"That's awesome," he replies. "Because I want to see you again. I want to take you out or just cook you dinner or anything that you want to do. I want to learn more about you. I mean, I don't even know what your last name is. That could be a fun start."

"Stark," she says, finally allowing herself to smile. "Sansa Stark."

"Mine's Tyrell," he answers, his returning smile wide and radiant. "Like Blade Runner with fewer Replicants."

The smile on Sansa's face disappears almost as soon as it came.

"What's wrong now?" Willas asks.

"You have a sister, right?"

"Yeah, she's a senior here. Majoring in business."

"And," Sansa adds," she wouldn't happen to be named Margaery and have a boyfriend named Renly?"

"That would be her," Willas says, raising an eyebrow. "Unless there's more 21 year old students with old lady names running around campus. Why do you ask?"

"She's my roommate," Sansa tells him flatly, amazed at the magnitude with which she can fuck up has apparently amplified. If she were thinking straight, she might have realized that she has seen Willas' picture tucked up on the corner of Margaery's wall alongside a taller, less handsome version of him, but Sansa is very much not thinking right now. Just thinking ' _I fucked up, I fucked up_ ' over and over.

"That's not really ideal," Willas says, a dumbfounded expression on his face. "But I mean it's not that bad."

"Really?"

"I mean it's slightly bad," he admits. "If I ever did anything to piss you off, she's full of anecdotes about teenage Willas' emo phase that will ensure you never want to sleep with me ever again."

"Did you straighten your hair?" Sansa asks, mildly amused, already picturing a young Willas listening to My Chemical Romance with angst in his fifteen year old heart.

"For months on end," he says. "While listening to Evanescence. It was not a good time for me, but that's not the point. Point is that circumstances might not be ideal, but I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

Sansa wants to. She desperately wants to, wants to plant another consuming kiss on Willas' mouth and to forget the mundane world outside of his bedroom. Unfortunately, the 'yes' she's feeling is unable to reach her lips.

"Give me some time to think about it. I need to make sure I'm doing the right thing."

"Okay," he says softly, visibly crestfallen. "That's fine."

It's all she can do to press a soft kiss against his cheek before she goes, doubt wheeling in her mind as she wonders what the right thing truly is.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery is basically Lottie from "Princess and the Frog"

It takes a few hours for Sansa to convince herself to shower, to eliminate any traces of Willas’ mouth and hands from her body.

Standing under the water, letting the subpar water pressure of the new apartment shower run over her, is soothing in its way. The water is almost too hot to a point where she could probably be served rare as part of a charcuterie platter and it serves as a nice distraction, making sure she doesn’t linger over how good it felt when Willas moved in her, how it felt to be well and truly fucked by a man who knew what he was doing.

The water grows uncomfortably cold after about fifteen minutes and when it becomes evident that there is no more excuse to wallow in this awkward mixture of self-pity and leftover arousal, she turns off the faucet. She wraps the Tiffany blue towel she picked up at Ikea around her body, making it a point to ignore the hickey he had sucked on the underside of her breast.

Were the gods kind, she would be able to retreat to the solace of her bedroom for the rest of the night, start the next day on a fresh less adulterous note. But as she moves to the cramped kitchen that she and Margaery share to grab the box of Cherry Pop Tarts her mother snuck into her grocery order, it becomes apparent that the gods are not sympathetic to her plight.

Instead of the blissful solitude she craves (if she’s being honest, the alone time she needs), she’s greeted by the sight of two bodies entwined on the couch in the adjacent living room as their lips mash together, the one closest to her already missing their shirt.

She coughs a bit too loudly to be polite in hopes that no actual penetration will occur in the brief time it takes to get her goddamned pastries and it’s really not that much of a surprise to see what appears to be Margaery’s boyfriend, whatever his name was, turn back to look at her, an embarrassed expression on his broad, handsome face.

What is more surprising is that the other person is not Margaery but instead her male twin, a hearty chorus of “Oh fuck” coming from his pink kiss-swollen lips.

“Sansa, darling,” Sansa hears Margaery say, a reassuring hand put around her naked shoulder as she feels her roommate approach from behind her.

“How about you and I chat for a little bit?” Margaery does not wait for an answer, just drags her into the decadence of her bedroom and plops her down on the overstuffed ottoman.

“Well,” Margaery begins, her tone almost scarily chipper, “I see you met Renly.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to this, only nods as she crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“And Loras too,” Margaery adds, sitting gracefully on the edge of her mattress.

“Who’s Loras?”

“My brother, silly goose. He and I are very close. We’re pretty much twins minus the whole shared gestation thing.”

“So your brother and your boyfriend are….” Sansa’s voice trails off before she can finish the obvious. She’s not really sure how the rich and preppy live, maybe this is some weird Bret Easton Ellis shit that she doesn’t know about.

“They love each other, sweetie,” Margaery tells her, her voice soft, a sad sort of smile appearing on her face. “It would be absolutely adorable if Renly was man enough to admit it already.”

“If they’re in love, then why are you and Renly together?” Sansa asks, genuinely curious.

“Because he needs a cute girl on his arm that won’t say anything to any NFL scouts that visit campus to recruit him,” Margaery says, a strange mixture of pride and annoyance in her voice. “And I get a pretty face to drag to invites and ensure someone is always there to bring me takeout when I have cramps.”

“And how does Loras feel about this?”

“He’s not thrilled about it, obviously,” Margaery adds, rolling her eyes and letting out a sigh. “But at least he can hang around Renly all he wants without anybody saying anything. Renly grew up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, I highly doubt that his parents were as delightful as ‘la familia Tyrell’ when it comes to sexual identity.”

Without even meaning to, Sansa notes the fact that Willas’ (or Margaery’s, she should probably only associate them with Margery) parents are good people, but Margaery takes this reflection as a sign of disapproval.

“I know we just met yesterday, but I’d really appreciate it if we kept this between us girls. Renly and Loras are so sweet and we’d all be super grateful if you didn’t saying anything, ” Margaery very nearly pleads. “We’re friends now and secrets stay between friends. Don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t say anything,” Sansa tells her, thinking of how Great Uncle Brynden who never married, of how Bran mentioned his crush on the neighbor boy, Jojen over the summer. “It’s not my place.”

“You’re the absolute sweetest.” Margaery rushes off of her perch on the duvet, wrapping her arms around Sansa in a surprisingly strong embrace. “I’m so glad that we’re roomies. I bet we’re going to be the best of friends by the time we graduate.”

It feels nice to have a new friend, even if the heap of praise Margaery is throwing on her seem to be a little too much, so Sansa hugs Margaery back, grateful that her own secrets get to stay hidden for now. Once content that her new bestie is keeping mum,Margaery makes her way to her closet, filled to the brims with delicate pastels and a messy stack of shoes that cost more than Sansa’s textbooks.

“We should have a girl’s night tonight,” Margaery tells her, grabbing a pale pink silk robe out of the wardrobe and tossing it at Sansa. “Your boy got you last night, we can have a night in."

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Sansa says, thinking longingly of the ‘Dance Moms’ marathon that awaits her on Netflix.

“You wouldn’t be bothering me,” Margaery tells her, shucking her dress over head and wrapping herself in the lilac fabric of her own robe, her cleavage almost cartoonish. “ Loras and Renly will go fuck in Renly’s car in a church parking lot and if it weren’t for you, I’d be watching trashy television all night and drinking.”

“I don’t mind trashy T.V.,” Sansa says, following Margaery’s lead and wrapping her robe around her body. The fabric feels luxurious against her skin like it was made for her, even if the monogram on the left hand side says “Property of Margaery” in an elegant white embroidered script. 

"You’re a girl after my own heart, Sansa,” Margaery tells her, slipping on a pair of matching fluffy mules, shoes that Sansa hasn’t seen outside of a soap opera and winking at her. “I can’t wait to get good and drunk with you." 

 


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery and Sansa are my BrOTP

Sansa’s mouth is impossibly dry when she wakes up, a puddle of mostly dried drool staining the blue cotton of her pillow. The light cruelly invading her room indicates that it’s probably closer to afternoon than not, and if it weren’t for the welcome addition to her nightstand, there would be no way she would flee the comforting embrace of her bed.

A liter bottle of Red Gatorade is accompanied by bag of goldfish crackers, the bag already opened lest inebriation interfere with Sansa’s consumption of junk food. Margaery is apparently some sort of hangover godmother and as Sansa begins her consumption of the entire bag, she feels immensely grateful for the girl that is now her friend even if last night became more of a shit-show than she intended.

At least that’s how she remembers it.

* * *

 

“So how long have you and the boo been together?” Margaery asks, scraping the icing off of the plate full of Oreos in front of her and placing it delicately to the side. “Are you getting a ring in the spring?” She waggles a finger in Sansa’s face from her perch on the bed, although it is most definitely not the one used for engagements. "You gonna have his ginger babies?"

“I don’t think we are. I mean he wouldn’t even friend me on Facebook for six months.” There’s a hint of a whine in her voice, but the swigs of vodka filling her stomach alongside half of a medium pizza that Margaery bought for the two of them help ensure that Sansa doesn’t care.

“That’s just rude,” Margaery tells her, a hint of sternness in her voice as she rolls the Oreo icing into a ball and takes a bite. “He’s putting his penis inside you on a regular basis. The least he can do is accept a friend request.” The words are slightly mumbled due to the impressive amount of frosting in her mouth, but Sansa gets the message loud and clear.

"Renly's the perfect boyfriend. Jeffrey could learn a lot from him."

"Joffrey, not Jeffrey." 

"Fine then," Margaery says, rolling her eyes. " _Joff-rey._  You're adorable as shit. If your boy doesn't appreciate the whole Amy Adams thing you have going on, I know so many people who would."

"He appreciates it," Sansa assures her, propping herself against the wall with one of Margaery's overstuffed pillows."He wants to have sex all the time."

"If you say so," Margaery says, making her skepticism very obvious."But he's starting to sound like one of those guys that goes down on you for two seconds and acts like a sex god."

Apparently now is the time for more Oreos because Margaery decides to lick the frosting off of a newly separated cookie, winking lasciviously at Sansa. Sansa can feel a blush rising in her cheeks as the memory of last night flits through her brain and Margaery laughs.

"Awwww, you're blushing," Margaery says. "I guess he's really good then. Or you have no idea what I'm talking about and I have to give you the talk that your mom probably should have done a while ago."

"He's fine," Sansa tells her, a note of finality in her tone. Margaery is more fun than she would have expected but there's a part of her that wants to brag about last night and nobody wants their brother to be a side piece. Not even the apparently sexually liberated Margaery.

"Is Loras your only brother?" She asks this already knowing the answer, but at least she can learn about Willas without awkwardly google stalking him.

"No, he's just my favorite," Margaery says, dangling a leg off the foot of the bed. "Which is probably a really shitty thing to say but Garlan is Willas' favorite and vice-versa so it's not like anyone is the Jan Brady of the family. Unless you count me because I'm the only one that wasn't handpicked to be a 'student athlete; and represent this fine institution."

The swig of the pink vodka-like drink that Margaery and Sansa have been sharing all night seems to indicate that she doesn't really give much of a shit about this, but that last bit catches Sansa's ear as Margaery rambles on.

"Loras will probably qualify for the Olympic Swimming team," Margaery tells her,a hint of almost-maternal pride in her voice. "And Garlan got drafted for the NFL as soon as he wrapped up his senior year. It's really surreal seeing people wearing your brother's jersey when you just want to buy a bottle of cheap wine at Target."

"What about your other brother?" Sansa asks. "Willas?"

"He's going to teach a whole bunch of nerdy undergrads about how not to eat poisonous plants and to respect the environment. Shit like that," Margaery says. "He was pretty much in the running for the Heisman until his asshole friend almost killed them both in a car crash his junior year. Turns out it's really hard to play football when it takes you six months to walk again."

The 'Oh my god' that Sansa thinks apparently also escapes her mouth, causing Margaery to raise an eyebrow.

"He's fine now," Margaery assures her, a bemused expression on her face. "I mean he was always a huge nerd in the first place so it's not like it was the end of the world but it's the principle of the thing. He could have been like one of the Mannings but without the caveman face."

There's a winsome smile on her face and for a brief second, Sansa sees an incredible family resemblance between younger sister and older brother, the same aristocratic teeth and light tan dominating their patrician features.

"As long as he's fine then."

"Don't worry, Princess Giselle," Margaery says, laughing at the severity of Sansa's concern. "Tyrells are notorious for dealing with shitty circumstances. We've got some bougie family crest somewhere that proves it. But for now," she lets out an exaggerated yawn, "I'm going to pass the fuck out. I have a sorority meeting tomorrow and they really hate it when you show up drunk when you're president."

Sansa is given a sloppy kiss on the cheek and promptly ushered out of the room to the confines of her own bedroom lest any beauty sleep is interrupted.

* * *

It had been a good night and Sansa is grateful for it if only to escape the nagging sensation that she's a shitty person that cares too much about people's brothers for selfish reasons.

' _But maybe_ ,' she thinks, sipping from the oversize Gatorade, ' _maybe Margaery was right about Joffrey_.'

There's a time and a place to debate whether she really wants to stay with her boyfriend but apparently now is not that time. The screen of her phone flashes bright and a text reading "I'm coming over tonight" sent from Joffrey's phone makes the decision for her.

 It's unclear whether the flutter of her stomach is excitement or dread.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Joffrey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the delay. I've been particularly busy for the past couple of weeks and it's been tough having enough time to actually get something written down.

The selfish part of Sansa, the part that wanted Joffrey to make her decision for her and end it without any interference on her part, was hoping he would just forget to see her. It had been a stupid thought, you don’t just stop calling someone you’ve been dating for the past three-ish years, but it had been a nice one nonetheless.

If he had ignored her, she wouldn’t be worried about hiding the slowly fading hickeys surrounding her breasts, wouldn’t need to explain her lack of availability since she’s moved to her apartment and why she hadn’t been clamoring to meet up with him and have the magical reunion she would have painstakingly planned a year ago.

But Sansa has never been especially lucky. Out of all of her siblings, she was always the one caught in a lie, a telltale blush on her face anytime she tried to pretend that it had been Robb who ate the rest of the lemon tart they had been saving for dessert or any other semi-white lie that had tortured her childhood soul. It’s not that she thinks it is an especially bad thing to be honest.

Her father is always honest with her and she loves him for it. 

It’s just that Joffrey probably doesn’t want “I got drunk and had the best sex of my life” to be the answer to his questions about what she’s done since she’s been back at school, especially since his body was in no way involved with said fucking.

 

* * *

 

Even with her anxiousness, Sansa still finds it in herself to doll up for Joffrey. It’s soothing to get ready for a date; it’s more fun than the actual date most of the time, so it’s not really a hardship to meticulously apply liquid eyeliner and curl her hair into the ‘natural’ waves she sometimes pretends are real when asked how she does it by random drunk girls on their way home from frat parties. 

It takes time to find a dress that hides a particularly visible hickey but Joffrey has never been one for punctuality anyway; more inclined to show up twenty minutes late lest showing up on time indicate that he was actually interested in what his girlfriend was doing. 

There’s just enough time to watch an old episode of “Say Yes to the Dress,” her stomach whirling from nerves before she hears the familiar ding from her phone that means he’s at the door.

 

* * *

 

Apparently Joffrey spent the summer doing more than just bumming weed off of his high school friends because he definitely looks bulkier, a testament to the gym obsessed lifestyle his ‘brothers’ had turned him onto. Without even meaning to, her heart skips a beat as she takes him all in and she briefly wonders why she even thought about straying in the first place. 

“Your place is too fucking far away, babe,” he says as he follows her into the apartment, his hand already descending to grope her ass as she leads the way down the hall.

“I live three blocks from campus.”

“Yeah, but you’re on the wrong side,” Joffrey tells her, moving to wrap his arm around her hip and squeezing him tighter to her as they make their way into her bedroom. “From now on, you can just come over to the house.”

“You have a roommate, sweetie.” And he does, some douche named Meryn that never really gets the hint to give them alone time. She doesn’t have a roommate and Margaery has made it more than apparent that Sansa could have weekly orgies in the living room and she wouldn’t mind as long as nobody steals her food or pukes on her bed.

There’s a hint of an awkward pause as they make their way to the edge of her bed, almost uncomfortably like the first date but at least this time, it doesn’t take hours for him to finally lean in and kiss her.

The press of his lips against hers feels comfortable like dipping her toes into a bath and it’s not hard for her to reciprocate, even with her stomach still whirling from worry.

 It feels nice and right and as she settles in for what will probably be a better reunion than she expected, he pulls away, his eyes darting towards her minimal cleavage.

“You want to suck me off?”

 They’ve been making out for a grand total of two minutes, their only physical interaction since the end of May when she went home for the summer. This is clearly the right time to ask for a blow job.

 

* * *

 

Sansa doesn’t really know what to say to this. There’s not really a lot to say. She had more than happily gone down on him in the past, eager to please and have him think she was the perfect girlfriend, but his request just now leaves her cold.

Joffrey takes the lack of response as a maybe. “Come on, babe,” he says, a whine in his voice as he drags her hand to his crotch. “It’s been forever.”

 “Can we wait a little bit?” She’s trying to mask the annoyance in her voice, to sound like the sweet loving girlfriend she has striven to be, but it’s really fucking hard when Joffrey can’t wait ten goddamn minutes for her to actually get aroused enough to stick his dick in her mouth. 

“But I want you now,” he pleads, sticking out his bottom lip like he’s a toddler who wasn’t allowed his favorite toy or a dog unable to steal some scraps. “Don’t you love me?”

“I do love you,” she says, attempting to soothe him as he stares at her with big eyes. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?” His tone is harsh and she can feel his nails digging into the skin of her hip. “ You never want to do any of the shit I want to do.”

“We always do all of the shit you want to do.” There’s no masking the exasperation now as she snatches her hand back to rest at her side. “I mean, when was the last time you went down on me? 

“Guys don’t like doing that,” Joffrey tells her like she’s five years old, a thinly veiled look of disgust on his Abercrombie model face. “Any guy that likes going down on a girl is probably gay. “

“Nobody else seems to have a problem doing it,” she blurts out without even thinking. “Weirdly enough, some people like getting their girlfriends off.”

To say that this was the wrong thing to say is a complete understatement.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He grabs her wrist too hard, to the point where she’s worried he’ll draw blood. “You should be glad that somebody wants to fuck you. Do you know what my brothers say about you?” 

Clearly she’s not supposed to answer this.

 “They don’t say shit. You know why?”

“No,” Sansa says, voice quiet as she attempts to subtly loosen his grip but he only holds on even tighter.

“Because you’re not hot enough to be worth noticing. You should be glad that I want to fuck you, at least somebody does.” He lets out a little noise of amusement, his face a familiar shade of anger-fueled red.

Finally his hold on her wrist softens and Sansa wraps her arms back around her waist, her hands nearly shaking as they rest under her armpits.

“I’m a nice guy, Sansa, “Joffrey says, his voice eerily calm. “You shouldn’t be acting like a cunt when I’m being nice.” His eyes, the same green eyes she could have written odes to when he first asked her out, are locked on her, their gaze harsh as he gets up from her bed.

“I’m going to leave,” he tells her, fishing his phone out of his pocket and glancing down at it. “ When you feel like acting like less of a bitch, let me know.” It’s with this that he storms out of her room, slamming the door behind him.

It’s only when she hears the slam of the front door that Sansa finally lets herself cry.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to School, Back to School!
> 
> (A la Grease 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot has happened in my life since I last posted (wrote a thesis, graduated college, started a job).
> 
> I want to get back to posting once a week now that I'm more settled into adulthood. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope this is adequate reparations.

She's always liked the first day of school. Arya always made fun of how eager she was to get back in the classroom, even Robb would tease her for spending the entirety of August counting down the days instead of relishing in the few remaining muggy days of the summer.

Sansa likes it nonetheless, likes going to an office supply store and buying a set of color coded folders with matching jewel-toned notebooks, likes the first week when everybody dresses up just a little bit nicer and tries a little bit harder.

But today's first day, her last first day unless she gives up on the real world entirely and decides to go into academia, will be more than just an opportunity to showcase an almost embarrassing amount of highlighters. It's a chance to start over, a chance to erase all of the questionable decisions she's made over the course of a week.

The Old Sansa might have spent the last week living off of Margaery's ample stash of Mike's Hard Lemonade and google stalking Willas but new Sansa won't. New Sansa will be the perfect student, the perfect girl really. The one who does all of the assigned reading and gets eight hours of sleep. Even if she weren't such a giant nerd, she'd have enough reason to be excited for today. Professor Lannister, historian and "Sexologist" according to his wikipedia page, is supposed to one of the greatest lecturers on campus if his ratemyprofessors bio is to be believed. She's got a bit of a teacher crush on him already even if she couldn't find any good photos of him online.

Sitting on the slightly uncomfortable padding of lecture seats is a familiar sensation same with awkwardly greeting the same group of people that have been in her classes since her freshman year. The professor is about five minutes late, but that's to be expected. It's only when the door opens that the dull roar of the class comes to a screeching halt and the man who could only be the professor enters the room, followed by a nervous looking grad student in a turtleneck.

Professor Lannister looks distinguished with a tweed jacket and expensive-looking briefcase, but Sansa immediately understands why there are a lack of photos given his height (or lack of it) , a fact that hadn't been revealed by his devoted horde of student reviewers. He makes his way to the front of the classroom, eyebrows raised as the grad student connects his laptop to the projector in the hall, milking the awed silence for all its worth.

"I'm your professor for the semester," he says, voice surprisingly deep. "If you couldn't tell from the cliche jacket my brother decided to buy me. " Professor Lannister holds up a sleeve to reveal a dark brown patch on his elbow. There's a polite murmur of laughter, one that Sansa finds herself joining in, but his monologue continues.

"For those of you who made the mistake of taking this class for breadth, you'll be happy to know that I don't take attendance," he adds, cracking a small smile. "But you'll be disappointed to know that I rely heavily on lecture when it comes to exam time. The choice is yours. All of you will find my grading rather straightforward: if you read and you learn, you will be rewarded. I make a deal with all of my students at the beginning of the year and will now offer the same to you. "

He takes a pause before snapping his fingers toward the grad student lingering at the computer screen. The grad student complies, switching the introductory slide to a picture of Professor Lannister holding a forty and looking a little more than tipsy.

"If you get an A in this class and that includes an A- because I'm not a sick tyrant who wants to crush your dreams," he tells the class, "then I will buy you a beer. Probably more than one if you're engaged enough with the material to earn such an excellent mark. If you're under the drinking age, this offer will be postponed; but I will redeem any excuse to get drunk with young people. Most professors will do anything to avoid students, but I became a professor because I like lecturing to a horde of students who listen to me. This is not a joke, merely a strange way of motivating a group of brave students still inclined to pursue humanities and social studies."

"Pod, if you could switch the slides," Professor Lannister says, nodding at the grad student who quickly switches the screen to the next, more academic slide . "Now that I've sufficiently bribed you all," he tells them, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket as he talks. "I hope you realize that this should be an interesting enough class that the promise of alcohol won't be wholly necessary. My lecture course is titled "Sex and Power." I can only assume that as hormonal young adults, at least half of that name will engage you."

"With that in mind," he draws in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Let's begin."

The rest of the lecture goes by fairly quickly. Professor Lannister is audible, knowledgable, and compelling;  three qualities that seem to elude most of Sansa's former professors. Her hand is stained with smudged ink from her pages of notes and half page of crappy doodling, but it makes her feel accomplished, like she will entirely succeed at throwing all of her mind power into studying the affairs of high born ladies and noted mistresses. The troubled mindset of the past week will just melt away and all will be well.

In other melting related news, the Sun, previously hidden by the muggy overcast skies that characterize early Fall, is out in full force and apparently shining all of its light onto her. It's with the beginning of sweet starting to pool under her arms that Sansa decides she's earned an overpriced frappucino, a familiar comfort that she's been addicted to since middle school where she wore Ugg boots and Juicy Couture sweat pants in hopes of being cool. After all, she's made it through two hours of lecture.

The line itself in the cafe on campus is very long. That much is not a surprise. College kids loved cafes, Sansa herself among that number. Where else did one take pictures of themselves "studying" or indulge in beverages that they could easily make at home?

No, the cafe being crowded isn't a surprise at all.

There's thousands of students roaming unfettered around campus. The surprise is that in the sea of thousands, she's standing in line behind Willas Fucking Tyrell.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa likes her men like she likes her coffee: Sweet and Covered in Whipped Cream

Sansa makes it through the line without incident, her head cowed and eyes locked on her phone screen as if some Buzzfeed article about the " _Top 30 Badass Historical Deaths"_ will protect her from the possibility of human interaction. It's only when they reach the front and Willas orders a latte in the largest size the cafe has that she becomes well and truly fucked.

Willas has paid (leaving a dollar in the tip jar to the delight of both Sansa and the apathetic student cashier forced to deal with an ungrateful clientele), collected his coffee, and turns to presumably find a vacant table amongst the hordes of students before it becomes apparent that she has been detected, a surprised expression unfurling on his face as it becomes apparent that her great disappearing act was a total and complete failure.

"Hey," he says simply with an almost bashful smile. He doesn't go for the hug which is both a relief and a disappointment. She doesn't deserve a hug, hugs are for nice people. She's the inconsiderate hook up that sprints out of an apartment as quickly as possible. "How's it going?"

" _Better now that you're here_ ," she thinks to herself, hungrily drinking in the stubble growing on his cheek. Somehow that feels inappropriate, so instead she simply replies," Fine. It's been great living with Margaery so far."

Another smile, this one twice as exuberant, appears on his face. "She must like you then if you still like her," he says, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. "She can be truly terrible when she wants to be."

"She keeps bringing me leftover cupcakes from her sorority's recruitment events," Sansa say, fondly remembering the box full of red velvet cupcakes Margaery had brought home two days before. "If that's her being terrible, I'm incredibly excited to see her being nice."

The cashier lets out an annoyed and very deliberate cough at their chatter, clearly eager to get through the day without chitchat holding up the line. Sansa gives Willas an apologetic look and goes to order, hoping that the time it takes to get her drink will allow her to once more escape into her personal fortress of solitude, but no such luck. Willas waits patiently for her, not saying anything until the cold of her whipped-cream covered drink chills her hand and she looks back at him, a small if resigned smile on her face.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" He asks as they make their way to the cafe's room of overstuffed couches and mismatched chairs and tables. "I hadn't heard from you and I don't want you to feel pressured into hanging out with me or anything awkward."

"You're not making things awkward," she says, honestly. Because he isn't. It wasn't Willas's fault she had a boyfriend. He didn't do anything she didn't want him to do.

"That's reassuring," he tells her, nodding towards the recently opened table closest to them and sitting down. "I'm a fairly awkward person so that might actually be a first."

She doesn't say anything in reply, only lets out a hum in agreement as she sits down across from him, the feeling in her stomach eerily reminiscent of when they first met a week ago. She takes a leisurely sip of her drink, but even an overload of sugar tastes like nothing as her heart begins to race as she gets a good look at him.

He looks more like a grown-up than she remembered. Of course, he is a grown-up; old enough to rent a car and everything, but with five o'clock shadow and a collared shirt under a sweater, he looks professorial like he should be grading papers instead of trying to reconnect with ill-fated hook ups.

"I had my first discussion section today," he tells her, his eyes flickering down to his almost overly preppy outfit. "Freshman are much more inclined to listen to me if I wear something their dads would wear. This way, I'm a respected authority figure instead of the asshole who grades their papers."

"You're making it sound like they hate you," she says.

"Hate might be a strong word," he replies. "But half of them will end up calling me William all semester and I'll just roll with it instead of correcting them." He pauses a moment, taking a sip from his latte, his eyes shining in a manner eerily reminiscent of last week. The lull in conversation is nice since pleasantries are only doing so much.

It's not as if a conversation about class scheduling and potentially meddlesome younger siblings is going to make Sansa forget about what it's like to have Willas touch her, to touch him in return, but it mostly makes her appreciate his company. She loved fucking Willas, but she just liked being around him. Even now, his presence was calming, a salve for her ever-increasing anxiety. It feels natural to be drinking coffee with him, to just sit and be without having to put on a show.

"Are you ok?" He asks, interrupting her train of thought. From the slight concern on his face, it becomes apparent that she spaced out more than she thought. "I'm not going to get you into trouble, am I?"

"Why would I be in trouble?" She asks, attempting and failing to raise an eyebrow.

"Not sure. I just keep expecting your boyfriend to jump out from behind a corner and beat the shit out of me ," he says, no trace of bitterness in his voice. It's almost too matter-of-fact, leaving Sansa momentarily dismayed at his apparent lack of jealousy. "I don't know the guy, but I'm kind of picturing a giant mountain man that could crush me with one blow."

"I'm not going to be in trouble," Sansa says, setting down her drink on the table and looking in to Willas' eyes. "Besides," she adds pointedly, "I'm not even sure he's my boyfriend anymore."

"So you're 'mostly broken up'?" Willas says, a skeptical look on his face. "I feel like that's something you should have a definite answer about."

"I haven't heard from him in days," Sansa tells him, sliding her foot out of her ballet flat and against the fabric of his khakis. "He thinks I'm a frigid bitch since I wouldn't blow him on sight."

"He sounds like a dick," Willa tells her. "I feel like you should go from mostly to definitely broken up if he's saying things like that."

"Nothing's ever 100 percent," she says, letting out a sigh and tucking her foot back underneath her. Joffrey had been her entire life for the past three years. Even if he had his moods could be horrendous, it was almost worth it for the days where he acted like her fairytale prince as kind and generous as she knew he could be. "And you're biased. Why should I take your advice?"

"Because I'm right," he says matter-of-factly. "Because he's an asshole if he thinks you have to do anything. Nothing I want has anything to do with it." There's a sad sort of smile on his face, one that makes her heart hurt without even trying.

"And what do you want?" Sansa asks, already knowing the answer as her heart begins to race.

"You," Willas says in a low voice, reaching forward and gently grabbing her hand with his own. "You've been on my mind ever since you left. I can't get anything done, not when I keep thinking about how good you taste."

She can feel a blush rising on her cheeks as the memory of his mouth on her floods her mind, a familiar heat rushing between her legs.

"The sex was probably the best I've ever had," he tells her, squeezing her hand. "But when I wasn't thinking about fucking you, I was thinking about how happy I was just talking to you in a bar, how nice it felt to sleep with you curled against me. I don't want to sound delusional, but I can't be the only one who felt that way."

"You're not," Sansa assures him, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders as she squeezes his hand back. It's nice to know her infatuation hasn't been one-sided. In fact, it's more than nice. It's quite possibly the best news she's ever heard. "I feel that way too."

"Good," he says, voice utterly content. "Because I want you so badly and it's taken all my self-control just to keep from eating you out under the table."

"I have a gap between classes," Sansa quickly volunteers, her body already aching for the touch of Willas' mouth and fingers.

As soon as the words leave her mouth, he smiles at her almost wickedly and it's all she can do to drag him from the table and as quickly as possible to her hopefully empty apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating this roughly once a week (sometimes more, sometimes less) until all is said and done. I have a rough outline of where the story will go but nothing is set in stone. Characters featured in the tags that have not yet made an appearance will be due shortly. Tags/ratings may or may not change. (Only to be made more raunchy, not otherwise)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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